Lace and Whiskey
by promiscuityisagift
Summary: [Bellice AU] Bella Swan is a saloon girl in Virginia City; Alice Cullen is a bounty hunter better known as Mississippi Slim. Bella dreams of adventure; Alice's life is insanity. And when Bella Swan is kidnapped by bandits, she did not expect to fall so madly in love with her rescuer. Nor, that she would be pursued by said bandits across the Wild West. Rating subject to change.


_Bella_

Two sevens. One of diamonds and one of clubs. Seven has always been a lucky number, but it was never Bella's. And her lucky house has always been hearts, though the one in her bosom is virginal and bored. The game isn't going well, in her opinion, as she sits and stares at the cards in her thin, pallid fingers.

Her nails are scraggly, her brunette hair stuck in her face and her warm brown eyes stinging with dust. She rubs her bare, calloused feet on the wood floor of the saloon, eyeing the three cowboys playing against her. Ol' Joe has a cigar in his mouth, Mexico Red is sweating profusely even for the Virginia City heat and Danny Limber's poker face is miserable.

One six of diamonds, one ace of clubs and one queen of hearts are in the river. The faded cards mock Bella as she waves her lace fan back and forth over her face. Her lipstick is smeared on her cheek; she can feel it.

"I fold," Bella says after Ol' Joe finally calls. She sits back and sighs, blowing a stream of warm air under her slight nose.

She slaps her cards down on the rickety table. Her stack of cash is the highest of the bunch, and she is playing for keeps.

"Bella!" Rosalie shouts from across the saloon. She lifts up her lacy skirts and storms over, looking mighty pissed.

"Yes'am?" Bella spins around, wrapping her legs around the back of her chair like she would straddle a high roller.

"You spend an awful lot more time playing poker than you do getting any work done." Rosalie raises a perfectly arched eyebrow.

"She makes twice her salary in winnings, I bet," Danny Limber comments, snickering. Rosalie slaps his wrist with her fan and his pile of greenbacks crumbles. Mexico Red makes to snatch it up, but Danny puts his hand on his revolver rather conspicuously. Six-shooters speak louder than sixes.

"You owe me, Bella May Swan," Rosalie says sharply, setting one hand on her curvy hip.

It's true. Bella, like any good frontiersman, is in a little debt. Well, more like up to her shoulders in it, but Rosalie has been a doll about the ordeal. Bella's story is a long one, with plenty of trials and a lackluster ending that landed her in the middle of Washington Territory, in a town called Virginia City, sleeping with men she doesn't even know for a living.

"Okay, Bella May," Mexico Red says, laying down his two cards to the dismay of his companions. He reaches forward casually and pulls his winnings to his chest.

"Show me the bread, Mexico Red," Bella replies, tossing her cards back at the stack. Danny Limber grabs them and cusses at her indecency.

"If you win the next round, I pay back Rosalie for your precious hours lost." The Nevada City cowboy tips his dust encrusted hat towards the saloon gal.

"Deal," Bella replies in an instant. "What if I lose?"

"I'm doing you a favor, little lady. There ain't any losing for you," Mexico Red says smoothly as Danny Limber shuffles the deck.

The frontier wind billows across the dusty streets as Bella waits. The clop of a horse's hooves and the creaking of carriage wheels echoes, piercing the log walls of the saloon. The chatter of men and women feels closer and louder than it was before. Mexico Red sets more than a day's pay on the table, making the spare change around it look pathetic.

Bella rolls a cigarette with her lily-white fingers and borrows a light from Danny. She waits for her hand to be dealt, and then plucks up the cards. An ace of hearts and a queen of hearts. Bella's lucky day. She breathes out a plume of smoke and keeps her expression flat, her crimson stained lips not even twitching. Mexico Red takes a sip of his whiskey, his weathered face unreadable.

Suddenly, before big blind can make the first bet, a stranger walks into the saloon in the most conspicuous way. He thrusts open the door, his spurs clattering, and his long shadow cast proudly on the sticky floor. Bella sets her cards on her lap and turns to face him. Virginia City mostly sees Nevada City folks and those on their way out to the Oregon or California. Sometimes there are people out searching for riches in the city, and they settle down very quickly. But the stranger has a look that is unlike anything Bella has ever seen.

A real foreigner in these parts.

Rosalie walks to the stranger and invites him over to the bar. He doesn't say a word, simply sits down on the bar stool and mutters a drink order. He looks like an outlaw, but Bella hasn't seen a Wanted poster for him, and they get signs all the way from New Mexico.

She picks at her chapped lip. Bella always fancied herself a rebel, and he seems to be one. The game is forgotten as she drop her cards, shoves the greenbacks and coins between her breasts, adjusts her black, lacy bodice and walks to the bar. She leans over the side, looking the stranger up and down. He doesn't acknowledge her.

Bella has never been attracted to a man before, despite her occupation. She never felt much sleeping with a fellow and the stranger is no different. He appeals to her for reasons other than the biological and aesthetic. She finds him captivating not for his looks, but for the secrets he must have.

She bats her thick eyelashes, hoisting herself up onto a bar stool. For twenty-six she is tiny, but her head is up in the clouds.

"Hi," she says, setting her elbow on the slippery countertop, "I'm Bella."

"I'm not here to spend money on whores," the stranger says calmly, taking a long, thoughtful sip of his whiskey.

Bella pouts. Most men crumble and would pour out their secrets at her flirtatiousness. It seems the stranger is impenetrable.

"I only wanted to talk," Bella sighs, tossing her wavy hair behind her back.

"Got nothing to talk about, girl." The stranger stares into his glass intently.

Bella sits still, picking at her rosy lips. Her craving for adventure is left utterly unsatisfied. Everyone wants what they can't have, and Bella experiences it tenfold. That's how she wound up in Virginia City, trying to pay her debts in a saloon. She can't help but desire what she can't have, and utterly disregard what she already possesses.

"Can I at least know this handsome stranger's name?" She doesn't find him handsome, but charm never hurts in this Wild West.

The stranger pauses, seeming deep in thought. She can't help but admire people who think through their actions.

"The name's Edward Cullen," the stranger says, his hand wrapped around his whiskey. "I'm a Texas Ranger."

Bella was hoping he was a bank robber, but a ranger probably sees action as well. She twists her hair around her slender finger, trying to look like she chooses her words carefully like him.

"Well, Edward," Bella says, turning to face him. Their eyes meet, his seeming to have seen more than Bella's, "have a nice time in Virginia City."

She gets up and walks away.

He gazes after her with a forlorn longing.

_Alice_

"Hold up, partner." Alice's voice echoes through the El Paso saloon.

The Mexican man in a ragged cowboy hat and torn shirt turns around. His lips curl into a mocking grin, and Alice's grip on her pistol tightens. He eyes her, looking on the verge of laughter.

She can't blame him, she supposes. Most people aren't pursued from territory to territory by a skinny, attractive woman a nice dress and old cowboy boots with a nickname like Mississippi Slim. But bounty hunters come in all shapes and sizes, and this hustler ought to know that. She shakes her head, removing her hair from her heart-shaped face. Her baby blue eyes are revealed, filled with dominance and wrath.

"You're wanted alive or dead. And, frankly, I don't give a damn what condition I snatch you up in," Alice says, her voice high, blithe and contradictory to her dominance, cocking her Remington 1858. The outlaw bursts into the laughter that had been swelling inside of him. She frowns.

It isn't worth arguing about. She is used to being overlooking and demeaned, but she always shoots first. Quickest with a pistol this side of the Mason-Dixon.

As the outlaw snickers, his eyes teary, she pulls the trigger in an instantly, the bullet penetrating his leg. He cusses, falling on the floor as loud as could be. He howls, grabbing his bloodied leg. Everyone in the cantina is focused on the scene as Alice holsters her pistol and grabs the outlaw by the arm.

She drags him down the street, the little town of El Paso gawking. Finally, Mississippi Slim drops the outlaw on the floor of the sheriff's office. The tall, tan sheriff is locking a thief up behind bars, and turns to face her.

"Can I help you, little lady?" the sheriff asks before his eyes land on the outlaw. His bushy eyebrows shoot up, and he adjusts the pin on his dusty shirt.

"A bandit by the name of Manny Rodriguez," Alice says firmly, nodding at the whimpering ninny. "Wanted dead or alive with a bounty of one-hundred-fifty dollars."

The sheriff walks to the bulletin board, which is covered with layers of wanted posters. He plucks off the one with the drawing of Manny Rodriguez, and studies it intently. Finally, the sheriff nods and picks up the outlaw by the scruff of his neck. He tosses him into the cell with the thief and saunters over to his desk. He withdraws one-hundred-fifty greenbacks and hands them to Alice.

"Thank you for your time, officer," Alice replies in her sweet southern drawl, and she walks out of the station.

She walks casually back to the cantina and finds her horse. Maria, the tawny steed, is grazing on weeds sticking through the wooden sidewalk boards. Alice unties her ride and swings her leg over Maria. Her head held high, she kicks her feet into Maria's hide and they slowly head down the streets of the town.

Finally, she reaches the inn on the outskirts of El Paso, where she slides off of Maria and ties her to a post. Alice reaches into her saddlebags and holds an apple to Maria's lips; the horse obliges and happily chomps down on her treat.

Alice heads into the inn and sets a bit of her newly acquired cash on the countertop. The bored innkeeper nods and pulls a key off of the pin-board. He hands it to Alice and she nods, with a polite thank you. She heads up the stairs and unlocks the door to her room, shutting and locking the door behind her.

She flops down on the bed, the coarse sheets rubbing against her pale arms. Rubbing her delicate features, she sighs and stares at the ceiling. It has been a long day. Long couple years, actually. Maybe someday she'll settle down, but that has never appealed to her. She is a loose cannon: a cowgirl and bounty hunter. Never has Alice met a man worth marrying, a town worth living in, a child worth bearing or an occupation worth working. She's getting mighty old, though: twenty-eight in a couple weeks.

Her eyes flutter shut, and suddenly, she is in a familiar field. The cotton is blooming, and she is sitting on her front porch. She hears a ruckus inside and leaps up, pushing open the door and heading down the hall. As fast as her feet can carry her, she walks down the hallway of the old plantation house, and pushes open the door.

Suddenly, Alice is awake. The dream was quick and crisp, but she is glad she woke when she did. Her skin is damp with sweat, and moonlight pours through the window. She lets out a groan and crawls up to the headboard, slipping underneath the tightly made blankets and resting her head on the straw-filled pillow. Sighing, she tries to fall asleep.

It proves impossible, the memory of thirteen years ago when she was a sixteen, engaged and the daughter of a wealthy family of cotton farmers. She never misses the old South, not the summer days or the winter nights. The very idea of laying eyes on Mississippi ever again makes her stomach churn. She is more suited to desert plains and rugged mountains than being an eligible young lady.

Finally, she gives up on sleeping and creeps down the stairs in the inn. She leaves her belongings locked up safely and checks on Maria. Alice hands her horse a handful of hay and heads down the sidewalk towards Rosa's Cantina.

There is a brawl on the street, which Alice stops to watch for a couple minutes, but it's incredibly dull. She cracks her knuckles and walks into the saloon, sitting down at the bar. Alice gets a couple of funny looks, but stands her ground. She orders a beer and chews on her lip.

She notices a girl sitting in the corner, her legs open but her skirt draped down to conceal most of the show. Her cleavage is flawless, milky colored and nicely shaped. The girl's eyes are a piercing emerald, and her hair a mysterious raven. It's dangerous to stare too long, to look at anything too long, to think such forbidden thoughts as those that cross Alice's mind. She has broken the law of the land a thousand times, but never for love. Never for lust. Only for money.

Alice's drink slides down the table and lands in her hand. Perfect. She can catch but she can't throw: her aim is awful, save for with a pistol.

"Well if it isn't Mississippi Slim, or should I say, Alice Cullen," a familiar voice echoes through the cantina. Alice spins around, finding herself face to face with a tan, lanky cowboy in a worn hat and weathered boots.

"Jimmy Swift?" Alice says in disbelief. But clear as day is her old partner - no romantic intentions between the two. They spent a few years in the business together, rustling up outlaws on the open range. "Well, I'll be, if it isn't Jasper Hale."

"Who'd of thought I'd run into you out here in Texas?" Jasper says, tipping his hat to her. "How've you been, Mississippi?"

"Not bad, cowboy. Roll me a cigarette?" She pats the bar stool beside her. Jasper complies, reaching into his breast pocket and rolling tobacco in paper for Alice.

"You still in the business?" Jasper asks before taking a long drink of sarsaparilla.

"Won't quit 'til I'm six feet under," Alice replies smoothly, toying with her fingernails.

"I've settled. Got a wife. Working as an officer of the law up in Nevada City," Jasper says, and then sighs.

"What's wrong?" Alice asks sweetly, her southern drawl turning sympathetic. Jasper is silent. Most cowboys don't talk about their feelings, but Jasper has always been an exception. In fact, he has an uncanny way of making people _feel _around him. Almost like a superpower. He isn't afraid to have emotions and thoughts, and Alice admires that.

"I miss the frontier. Really do. Wrangling outlaws and making easy cash," Jasper says, his leather colored eyes wistful. "But I have to do a day's work for a day's pay."

"You know, partner, I've heard a bandit named Edward Double Ace is hiding out in Virginia City. I'll ride with you up to your home. Maybe we can even turn Ricky in," Alice offers with a feeble grin.

Jasper smiles, his careless look returning. Alice's tiny grin turns into a wide curve.

"Time to catch a bandit."


End file.
